Reflection
by Dhampir72
Summary: Lavi hates mirrors. DARKFIC.


Title: Reflection

Summary: Lavi doesn't like mirrors. DARKFIC!

Rating: PG-13/R

Content: Mind rape. SPOILERS from chapters 100 and up.

Authors Note: Something really fucked up I thought about after reading a lot of D.Gray-Man. Huzzah for me and my terrible mind-fuck fanfictions! Yay for hidden motifs, symbols, and parallels! Hope you can catch them all and understand it!

pdpd

It was night. Dark. The rain outside was pounding against the walls of the Black Order tower. I could hear it and it bothered me. It sounded too heavy.

I went down to my room, past the library where I could see Bookman sitting by candlelight over a huge tome, reading silently. But it was like the books were talking in hushed whispers. For some reason, that sanctuary that I normally found in that round room filled with books was foreign to me. It frightened me. I could hear the voices murmuring after me as I passed. The corridor was dark, and that scared me too.

My room was cold. The rain was louder here, because I'm not sure why. Stacks of books lay haphazardly everywhere. Piles nearly consumed my bed, dresser, floor. I took off my coat and scarf. It really was cold, but it felt good, if that makes any sense.

In the corner there was a black sheet draped over something long. Almost my height, but maybe a little shorter. I can't look at it for long because it always makes me nervous. So I don't look at it. But the voices are whispering again, like the pages are talking to me, but only so slightly I can barely hear it. I lit a candle and tried to ignore the hushed words. It was cold.

Then I heard another voice. Closer, clearer. But even though the words were washing over me like a chill, I couldn't understand them at all. I considered running away. Back into the library where Bookman was. Maybe upstairs in the science department where there was live activity. Not here, where the voices were clawing at my soul, pulling at me like invisible hands. Not in the library where Bookman was surrounded by these whispers. Not in the science department, where I could listen to more voices. I didn't want to hear anything. I think it was because I was afraid of what I'd hear. Would I be able to tell the difference between the living and dead?

"Be quiet," I said.

The voices continued though. I tried to drown them out by snapping the buckles on my boots as I removed them, but I could still hear the murmurs. I could hear that other voice too, strangely and frighteningly close in my ear. I shivered. It was like I could feel hands on me. Thunder cracked from outside and the rain was coming down harder. It's cold, I could only think. And the voices were getting louder, but not clearer. Like when you're in a room and so many people are talking at once but you can't hear what anyone is saying above the din.

Clearer now, that voice, it called. I don't know why I stood. I was afraid. So afraid that I wanted to run away, but my legs were frozen in place and my limbs were so cold it was painful. It was even more terrifying than my first battle against an akuma. This was worse. The fear was greater, more intense, and it gnawed at me like those invisible hands of the voices that surrounded me.

The black sheet fell from what it hid in the corner of the room. A full-length mirror stood there on its two clawed feet. My pale countenance was reflected in the glass. I started slightly. I hated that thing. I hated mirrors.

I took a step forward and then another. Forced. Mechanical. My cold hand grasped the edge of the black sheet. I held it in my hands, standing before that mirror. I looked frightened and it disgusted me. I don't know why, but it did. I looked small and helpless, shivering in the cold air. I hated mirrors. I didn't want to look at me. I didn't want to see what I had become.

"But you have to look sometime, eh, Lavi?"

I could understand the voice now. It was loud, clear in my head. It sounded like it echoed in the small room. It resonated in my bones. Fearful, I looked around, the sheet clutched uselessly in my shaking hands.

"What's wrong? Afraid? _You_? What have these people done to you?"

The voice spoke again, and I followed it this time. To the mirror. My reflection that had been there before had gone; reflected back at me, someone else. He was younger than me, colder. His lips were curled in a sneer. I hated him just looking at him.

"You hate me, neh? That says a lot about you, doesn't it?"

He looked cocky, behind his eye patch and headband. His hair was red. My shade of red.

"Who—?"

"Oh, don't ask like that," he snapped. "Who do you _think_ it is?"

I knew who it was and I hated him. I hated myself. I hated that mirror. The cloth in my hands felt rough. I was still shaking.

"Look at you! Pathetic. These _people_ have made you soft," he spat.

His face was cold, full of hatred, indifference. He was the me that I had tried so hard to forget. I tried so hard to leave that me behind. But he surfaced and I felt so much smaller.

"You're a Bookman! It's condescending to the title for you to be like _this_," he hissed.

I stood there and let it wash over me. The jab hurt, but somewhere inside of me I agreed with him. The voices were getting louder, accusing. That hurt too.

"What? Can you hear them? Does it _bother_ you? Don't listen. Shut them out. Fulfill your destiny: be a Bookman. That's the only option you had when you became Bookman's apprentice…didn't you?" he asked, smiling evilly.

I hated him. Me. I hated me. I hated that I could smile like that. That I could hurt myself like this. I felt weak.

"That's because you are _weak_. You've always been _weak_. Your emotions make you _weak_. Don't listen to them, the voices. Don't listen to them. A real Bookman shouldn't hear them. After all, they're just the ghosts of those who died. Those people who we write about. They're just ink on paper, nothing more and nothing less."

The invisible hands of the voices that clawed at me became painful, stabbing. I hated it. I hated my weakness. My feelings. I hated them. My shoulders slumped and I felt tired, cold, and beaten. I felt submission creeping over me like an icy wind. I hated that too.

"That's it. Don't be this 'you' that you've created. That fake you. Cast aside that mask. Embrace what you've been destined to become."

I didn't want to become that. Cold, calculating, indifferent, miserable soul. I wanted to feel. Feel love, joy, passion, hope. Anything. Even the bad things. But I didn't want to feel that desperate fear that was slowly taking hold of me as the voices threatened to drown me in their anguish.

"Walk the path of a Bookman and you won't feel this pain. You won't feel anything. It's better that way, don't you think?"

Cold hands were grabbing at me, pulling me down. The cloth fell from my numb hands as I collapsed to my knees. I was looking up at him now and he down at me. His face was radiating hate. I hated him too. He hated me for my weakness. I hated him for his lack of compassion. I hated the both of us so much but I wasn't quite sure who to hate at all.

"A Bookman has no need for a heart."

It was colder now. I couldn't stop my shaking. I couldn't stop my hate. I hated me. I hated me so much.

"Go away," I tried to say, but my lips were frozen shut.

"Oh, but I'm always here."

His answer to my unspoken words angered me. I stared at my knees with my head bowed in what could have been interpreted as complete submission. A pair of boots were in front of me; the hem of a ragged cloak. Then he was on one knee in front of me. His finger came beneath my chin, chilling me to the bone. He made me look at him. My one eye to his one eye. That eye was as sharp as steel. His face was still cold, emotionless. I hated him.

"Oh, Lavi…"

When he sighed these words, that hand moved up from beneath my chin to my hair. He ran his fingers through it like some sort of large spider. I shivered, disgusted, and tried to pull away, but I couldn't. My body was completely frozen.

"…you've never really known…what you've wanted…"

He moved closer to me and wrapped me in an icy embrace. He felt like stone. His cloak was rough against my cheek. And he was touching me, his ghostly fingers rubbing my back, threading through my hair. I hated it.

"…and you've never really known…who you are."

His lips were close to my ear, breathing cold against my skin. I hated him and wanted to push him away. But I was so cold and my arms just wouldn't move. The hands were pulling me down still; their voices still moaned in my ears.

"But don't worry, Lavi…"

Pulling away from me, he held me at arms length from his body. He looked at me, seriously as his lips turned upwards in a smirk.

"You'll know soon enough."

He touched my lips with his and they were even colder than the rest of him, if that was possible. His tongue found its way into my mouth. So cold. He was so cold. I hated him so much I felt sick. Thankfully, he pulled away, but touched his fingertips to my frozen lips.

"Won't you?"

Then the world tipped to the side and the screams of thousands resonated through the room in an almost deafening roar. They were screaming in hate, anguish, fear. Screaming for revenge. For justice. Accusing shrieks and offended screams filled the room, my head. It was so cold and the sound was just too loud. I felt like my skull would implode beneath the pressure of their agony.

"Stop it…stop it!"

I don't think my voice could be heard over the din. It was like a demon came and swallowed it up.

"Stop it! STOP IT!"

I think I was crying now, I'm not sure. There were too many things happening. I just wanted it all to stop. I hated it so much.

"I don't want to listen anymore…STOP IT!"

And then the roar cut off, like a record player that suddenly rips short. It was silent. Even the rain outside stopped. Peaceful. It wasn't as cold as before.

"Thank…God…"

I could only murmur this as I opened my left eye to gaze about the room. The window was pouring in sunlight. Morning had come all too soon. Too fast. But I was grateful. I realized that I was lying on the hard ground, my face resting on the black sheet that had covered the mirror. I looked at the cloth in an accusing manner.

"What a terrible dream…"

I was just thankful it was over. I swore that by the end of the day, that mirror would be smashed to pieces so I didn't have to ever see it again. But in the meantime, I'd cover it up and have someone take care of it later, when I wasn't there. As I sat up I looked into the mirror and saw my own tired reflection in the looking glass.

"God, I hate mirrors…"

I stood and brushed my pants off, the sheet in my hand.

"Mmm…and why is that?"

Shocked, I looked up. He was there again, smiling at me in a horrible way. I stumbled backwards away from him. He smirked at me again, removing his cloak. Underneath it was an Exorcist uniform. _My_ Exorcist uniform. He donned my headband and smoothed his hair out a little, giving me an evil smile.

"Don't look so surprised! Someone has to take your place, after all."

"Take my place?!" I was shocked and couldn't hide it.

He laughed. It sounded so evil. I could fee bile rising in my throat. I hated him so much.

"But of course. You made your decision."

Turning away from me he said something I couldn't quite hear. A moment later, Allen came into my field of vision. He was smiling in that embarrassed way he normally did, scratching the back of his head. The imposter me smiled back at the white-haired Exorcist.

"Allen! That's not me!" I banged on the glass, hoping to get his attention.

Allen didn't look at me. He was too busy looking at the other me. They both laughed together over something I couldn't make out. Then Allen headed for the door. I continued in my efforts to get his attention.

"Allen! Allen! That's not me! Don't trust him! ALLEN!"

But the young Exorcist was already gone and he didn't hear my shouts. The other me threw a smirk over his shoulder as he headed in the same direction as Allen.

"Don't worry, Lavi. I won't leave you in there forever. You just need a little time to…_reflect_ don't you think?"

His smile was so frightening. So evil. I hated him. I slapped the glass with the palm of my hand.

"But don't worry. You won't be alone."

And then he left. I stood at the mirror, looking in at my room, standing in its reflection.

"What does he mean…?" I asked aloud to the empty room.

My empty room. The books were my only companions. And they were whispering again. Hushed speech. I slumped against the wall as it got louder.

"Let your emotions eat you alive, Lavi."

His voice sounded from somewhere distant. The cacophony that surrounded me was getting louder by the second. I put my hands over my ears to try and drown it out.

"They're just ink on paper."

I don't know if I said it or he did. But the voices were reaching a crescendo, that hellish screaming I had heard the night before. The roar was so loud I thought I might die. And the room got steadily colder.

"A Bookman has no need for a heart."

That time, I knew I said it. And I hated myself.


End file.
